The Golden Age
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: The Mandalorian sailors of the Navy of the Republic realize that the system is not what it seems, and the boundless call of the sea in their souls can be answered another way. That answer, of course, is piracy. It is a time of heroes and villains, of adventure and quiet moments, of betrayal and of brotherhood, and of something bigger than yourself. It is a Golden Age. (Pirate!AU)
1. We're Pirates Now

AN: The galaxy is now a single planet. Different planets are now individual countries. Each alien species is now a human nationality. The sea holds her own mysteries, and only the Jedi can discern them, though you might call it magic. Hints of the nature and the past of this world are scattered throughout its stories. Analogous to the (heavily romanticized) Golden Age of Piracy here on Earth, and the Clone Wars era of the Star Wars universe. Each chapter is intended to be read in any order, but "We're Pirates Now" is the best place to start.

In this story, Pirate Captain Rex takes his ship into port for some rest and repairs, offering him time to reflect. But nothing goes according to plan when your senior officers are on shore leave.

* * *

Rex paced the deck anxiously. Tatooine was a safe port for pirates, safe enough that he didn't have to worry about watchdogs from the Navy of the Republic breathing down his neck. But he was a sailor, and like all sailors, spending too much time tied to the dock made his legs restless. After a week-long respite from attacking Separatist frigates, Rex was itching to be back on the open sea.

The sea was in his blood. It was in the blood of all Mandalorians. Theirs was a nation of islands, with a rich history of maritime mastery. Those who did not go to sea themselves still felt its pull. Rex had learned to swim before he learned to walk, and by ten years old he was piloting his own skiff across the channel to visit his cousins on the neighboring island of Tracyn. He preferred the cool ocean spray and the gentle roll of the waves to the stifling stillness of being on land. Even mooring to the dock was too close to being landlocked for Rex to feel comfortable. He suspected some of his crewmates––Mandalorians all––felt the same.

Echo certainly did. Rex glanced toward the table set up next to the wheel of the _Resolute_ , where Echo had charts and notes and navigation tools spread out. Echo leaned over the table, muttering to himself as he marked positions on one of the charts and compared them to his notes. A better navigation master Rex had yet to see. Even among Mandalorians, Echo's meticulous attention to detail and ability to read coastal conditions and weather patterns was impressive. Especially here in the Outer Rim colonies, where so much was still uncharted, Rex was glad to have Echo on his crew.

Rex cast his gaze further down the deck. At the bow, Dogma moved amid piles of planking, shifting and organizing. He selected a plank and, tucking it under his arm, swung over the side of the ship. A moment later the sound of hammering cut the air. Dogma's cousin Tup sat next to the piles of planks, a smaller piece of wood in his hand. He sanded the edges carefully, stopping now and then to measure the piece against an empty space in a large barrel. It wasn't unusual for family members to go into the same trade, but to have stuck together during the war was not so common, and Rex again counted his blessings that this carpenter and cooper were part of his crew.

Echo had also managed to stick with his family. His brother Fives was part of Rex's crew, and it was on him that Rex waited. As the ship's bosun, Fives had insisted that he be the one to go ashore to pick out replacement parts for the damaged rigging on the _Resolute_. Unlike Echo, however, Rex suspected that what Fives really wanted was a chance to go into town and blow off some steam at 79's. The pub had become a haven for Mandalorian sailors in the Outer Rim, especially for those who––like Rex and his crew––were disillusioned with the war which Chancellor Palpatine was waging, and who had chosen to leave the Navy of the Republic. At 79's, no one asked questions about your loyalty or doubted your courage. Everyone there knew the war was going to _osik._ It was the one place sailors could exchange news about the war or seek information about family members still serving in the NoR. And, in true Mandalorian fashion, it served up a hefty dose of rowdiness and revelry.

Hardcase had gone with Fives, to pick up some new ordnance for the _Resolute_ 's guns, and the two were supposed to have been back by midday. When that hour had come and passed, Rex had sent Denal ashore to find them. Denal was a good quartermaster: fair, levelheaded, firm but kind. Rex had always thought he'd make a good captain himself, and told Denal as much, but Denal would always shake his head and say that was one step further than he was willing to take. Rex marveled at his luck in having such a trustworthy and committed second.

Now, though, with the hours lengthening into late afternoon, Rex had half a mind to leave all three of them behind and head back out to sea. He continued pacing. He had never had a problem keeping his head; even under the pressure of battle he could think clearly and act decisively. And when it was quiet, he had enough thoughts to occupy him. But this sitting in one place, this damned frustrating _nothingness_ of being docked in the harbor, was grating on his limbs. He needed movement.

"Sir, you're wearing a rut in the deck," said a chuckling voice behind Rex. Rex stopped and turned. Jesse stood on the stairs, half out of the belowdecks hatch, a bemused smile on his face. He held out a piece of nerf jerky. Rex sighed and strode toward him, taking the jerky.

"Thank you," Rex said.

"No problem sir," Jesse replied, coming up onto the deck to stand beside Rex. "I know how much you hate being tied to the dock. Besides," he nodded toward the bow, where Dogma was gathering up his carpentry tools, "I think Dogma would appreciate not having to put more work into this ship."

Rex's brow furrowed at the comment, but the small quirk at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "Sometimes I think that's the _only_ thing Dogma wants to do," he said. "But he's a good kid."

"Eats my cooking," Jesse said. "That's all I can ask for."

Rex took a bite of the nerf jerky and chewed, gazing down the docks. There were quite a few ships moored in Tatooine this time. Though none stood out quite like the _Resolute_. It was hard to disguise a Republic warship, even with a new paint job and a different flag flying from the mast. Rex had designed it himself: white _jaig_ eyes on a dark blue background, the smaller lines of the eyes rendered as stylized cutlasses. Though it usually fell to Mandalorian clan leaders to bestow _jaig_ eyes to those who showed courage as warriors, Rex thought he was well within his rights to claim the symbol for his men. It was no small feat to stand up to an entire government and say, _We see through your lies and we're done with you_ , and then steal their ship. They had earned the eyes, for sure.

A commotion at the end of the pier drew his attention. "Move!" a voice shouted. Rex looked closer. It was Fives, shoving someone out of his path with one arm, while the other arm held Hardcase up underneath his shoulder. Hardcase gripped Fives for support, favoring a leg as he limped along the dock at a rapid pace. Behind them, Denal struggled with a large wooden crate. The three came racing down the dock as fast as they could.

Jesse moved back toward the hatch and yelled down. "Kix! Kix, you better get up here!" A moment later, Kix scrambled up onto the deck, a small medbag in his hand. "What is it?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Jesse replied, "but it looks like trouble."

Fives and Hardcase reached the ship and scrambled up the gangplank, Denal not far behind. Fives met Rex's eyes. "We have to go," he said. "We have to go now."

Rex took a breath, the thrill of action suddenly coursing through him. He ran to the hatch and flew down the stairs. "All hands on deck!" he bellowed. "All hands on deck! We're shoving off!" There was a cacophony of shouting as members of the crew picked up Rex's order and relayed it. Rex bounded back up the stairs and looked toward the wheel. Echo was already securing his charts and instruments. "Oh the wheel, Echo!" Rex commanded. Echo nodded and took his position at the helm.

"Do we have a heading, sir?" Echo asked.

"Out of port," was all Rex had to offer.

Crew members of the _Resolute_ began pouring onto the deck, which became a seething mass of organized chaos as the men moved to their standard positions. Rex took a moment to check in with his officers. Fives had set Hardcase down on the deck, leaning him back against the side of the ship. Kix had already cut away Hardcase's pantleg, and was wrapping his thigh in bandages. "You _di'kut!_ " Kix hissed at him. "This could have hit an artery!"

Hardcase grinned. "But I walked away with the prize."

"There's a story here, isn't there?" Rex asked.

Fives nodded. "Yeah, but I'll tell you later."

Rex turned his attention back to his crew. "Weigh anchor!" he shouted. "Cast off those mooring lines and bring up the gangplank! Hoist some canvas! We're getting under way, and we're gonna be snappy about it!" The crew moved in well-trained synchronicity. In minutes, the _Resolute_ was drifting away from the dock, carefully being pointed toward the harbor mouth by Echo.

Rex went to the gangplank and helped haul it completely aboard. As he reached out to take the last length of board, a gunshot rang over his head. Rex ducked behind the side of the ship, then cautiously peered over the gunwale. A large group of angry Trandoshan men had reached the dock and were running toward the _Resolute_ , cursing loudly, their traditional lizard skin coats all but covered in weapons and trophies. One of the Trandoshans raised his pistol again and took a shot. Rex heard it ping off of the mast. He caught sight of a crew member up in the rigging aiming his own pistol back at the Trandoshans.

"Do not fire!" Rex called to his men. "Repeat: do not return fire! Stand down! Echo get us out of here!"

"Yes Captain!" Echo responded, and the ship swung even further out into the harbor.

" _Fierfek_ , I don't want to start a damned firefight in Tatooine," Rex muttered. He risked another look over the gunwale. Echo had put considerable distance between the _Resolute_ and the dock, and the Trandoshans were now just an indistinguishable mob at the end of the pier. Rex took a breath. "Keep it steady, men," he called out as he stood up. "Stay at your stations. We'll open her up to full canvas once we're out of the harbor."

"Aye aye, sir!" came a chorus of replies.

Rex marched back over to where Hardcase sat on the deck. "Is he going to live?" he asked Kix, though he already knew the answer.

"He'll live," Kix said. "Took a pistol shot to the leg, but it only grazed the flesh."

Rex looked to Hardcase, then to Fives. "Story time, then. You were late reporting back to the ship, and then when you do arrive you're being chased by a mob of pissed off Trandos, you made us scramble our _shebse_ to get out of here, and Hardcase was shot. What in the hell happened?"

Fives opened his mouth to speak, but Denal suddenly stepped into the group. "It was this, sir." He held out a hefty-looking blunderbuss, its muzzle nearly a meter long.

"A gun?" Rex raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Really, Hardcase?"

"I went to town for ordnance, I got ordnance," Hardcase said. "And it's pretty."

"Sir," Denal began again, "we were loading up on shot for the pistols––" he indicated the wooden crate he had been carrying, "––when Hardcase saw this. He was about to purchase it when a Trandoshan confronted us and said 'That's mine. I saw it first.' Hardcase wouldn't accept that answer, so he challenged the Trandoshan to a duel."

Rex sighed loudly.

"Hey, I thought it was fair," Hardcase said. "If he won, he'd get to buy the gun. If I won, I would. And I clearly won."

"Yes but you very nearly didn't," Denal said.

"He wasn't even close. Leg, heart," Hardcase said, pointing to his leg and then his chest. "Big difference there."

"Anyway sir," Denal said, "Hardcase shot the Trandoshan. And purchased the blunderbuss. And _then_ realized that if there is one Trandoshan, there are probably more, and they would want revenge for their buddy's death. So we returned to the ship."

"And not a moment too soon, right?" Fives chimed in. "Thanks for waiting for us."

Rex shook his head. He tried to keep the stern look on his face, but his mouth had other ideas, and it twitched into a smile. A chuckle escaped him. He looked from Hardcase to Fives, to Denal, to the enormous blunderbuss in Denal's hand. "That is…an impressive piece of hardware," he finally conceded. Hardcase let out a relieved sigh. Rex's smile widened. "Take it below, and get that shot stored away, and Kix, make sure Hardcase stays off his leg until it's healed." He looked at Hardcase. "We may be pirates now, but we're not swaggering idiots. You take care of yourself."

"Yes sir," Hardcase said. Kix nodded in agreement and helped Hardcase to his feet. Fives took the crate of shot and followed them belowdecks, with Denal and the blunderbuss bringing up the rear.

The _Resolute_ was clear of the harbor mouth now, and the crew were already rigging the sails for full canvas. Rex made his way back to the wheel. Echo gave him a questioning look. Rex shook his head. "I'm sure Fives will tell you all about it."

Echo nodded. After a pause, he looked at Rex again. "Heading, Captain?"

Rex looked out over the bow of the _Resolute_. Ahead, the horizon stretched away to infinity, a blue, unbroken shimmer. Dogma and Tup sat at the bow, both working on the barrel now. Somewhere in the rigging above, a crew member had started up a chorus of the traditional Mandalorian shanty, _Vode An,_ and soon the air was filled with the strong chant of dozens of voices. The breaking of waves against the hull of the ship underscored the music with a bright _slsssh._ The warm salt breeze caressed Rex's face. This was where he belonged. Where they all belonged. The sky and the sun and the ship and the sea. This was freedom.

Rex pointed to the line where the sea and sky met. "There."


	2. Quiet Time on the Resolute: Home

_Three quiet moments on the_ Resolute _. Three chances to reflect on what is, what was, and what could be._

Part One: Jesse & Kix  
Home

Kix wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, catching the sweat that threatened to drip into his eyes. In the close quarters of the lower deck, the air hung hot and heavy, laced with the spicy scent of woodsmoke. Around him, Kix could hear the soft breathing of his crewmates, asleep in their hammocks, swaying gently with the light roll of the ship. He lay there in his own hammock, looking at the planking of the deck above him. What had woken him? He never did sleep very deeply, but the sounds and smells of the Resolute were a familiar backdrop now, unnoticed by his conscious mind.

Kix felt his hammock sway more sharply, as the ship tilted in time with some wave. A muffled clatter of pans and cutlery punctuated the quiet, followed by a whispered " _Shab!_ " Kix sat up. He looked around. Dogma shifted in his sleep, his breath catching briefly before settling back into its usual light snore. No one else had stirred. Kix looked to the hammock next to his own. It lay empty. Ah. Now it made sense. His awakening, the heat, the scent of woodsmoke, the sound of cooking, the empty berth.

Jesse was up to something.

Kix got to his feet and shuffled down the deck. At the doorway of the galley, he paused. A pot of some dark liquid simmered away on the woodstove, secured to the stove rail for safety. The heat pouring out of the galley made his skin prickle, and a thick mix of spices greeted his nose.

At the far side of the galley, with his back turned toward the door, stood Jesse. He had a mortar and pestle beneath his hands, and he mashed something into a paste with single-minded focus. Kix watched him. In the heat, Jesse had removed his shirt, and sweat shone on the prominent muscles of his back. They flexed beneath his skin as he put pressure on the pestle, rhythmically scraping the sides of the mortar to fold the paste over and over again. As Kix continued to watch, a soft hum rose from Jesse. A Mandalorian lullaby. Jesse reached for a bowl nearby and dumped its contents into the mortar, working it into the paste in time with the music.

Unbidden, an ache formed Kix's chest. There was something so perfect about this moment. So wonderfully and uniquely Jesse. Part of him wanted to walk up behind Jesse and wrap his arms around him, to feel Jesse's warmth and smell his scent, even in the overly hot and aromatic galley. Part of him wanted to creep back to his hammock and hold the memory of this pristine, uninterrupted moment in his mind as he drifted off to sleep again, a treasure that was his and his alone.

As Kix lingered in the doorway, the decision was made for him. Another wave sent the ship tilting, and as Jesse reached out to steady some bowls, he caught sight of Kix.

Jesse grinned sheepishly. "Sorry _cyare_ , did I wake you?"

"No," Kix said automatically. He wouldn't admit to it even if Jesse had woken him. "Just woke up. What are you doing up so early? Breakfast can't be for another few hours, right?"

Jesse's grin widened. He gestured to the mortar and pestle. "I picked up a few supplies last time we were in port, and morale has been somewhat…lacking, since our last run-in with the Separatists, so I thought I'd do a little something special." He motioned for Kix to come closer, and held out the mortar for Kix to see its contents. "Remind you of something?"

Kix stepped toward Jesse's outstretched arm. The paste in the mortar was dark, sweet-smelling, studded with chopped nuts. Combined with the aroma from the bubbling pot on the stove, it activated a very deep, very strong, and very cherished sense memory. Kix's eyes widened in amazement.

" _Uj'alayi_? Jesse are you…are you making uj cake?"

If it were possible for the sun to be contained in a person's smile, Jesse had discovered it. Kix forgot how to breathe.

"It won't be true uj cake," Jesse said, "but I found enough spices here in the Outer Rim to more or less mimic the taste of _uj'ayl_ syrup, and I figured everyone could use a taste of home, so…" He shrugged.

Kix's chest tightened again. The disarming smile Jesse wore belied the depth of care inherent in his actions. None of them had ever thought they would taste uj cake again for a long, long time.

In two steps Kix had closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Jesse's bare shoulders, pulling him in for a soft but needy kiss. Jesse set the mortar down and snaked his arms around Kix in return, the smile never leaving his lips as he gave in to Kix's mouth. Oh that smile. That smile would be the death of him, Kix just knew it. That smile was his entire world.

Kix broke the kiss, the ache in his chest forcing a whimper out of him. He brought his hands to Jesse's face, stroking his cheeks lightly as he gazed into Jesse's eyes. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jesse's. He felt Jesse's arms wrap more tightly around him. They lingered in that moment, sharing the same breath, feeling the same heartbeat, swaying slightly with the roll of the ship.

"How did I get so lucky?" Kix whispered.

Jesse chuckled softly. "You have that the wrong way around, _cyare_." He kissed Kix again, gently. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Best thing this war ever brought me."

The Separatist armada could come, could encircle the Resolute and tear her apart with cannons, and Kix wouldn't care, so long as he got to stay in this moment.

"I love you, Jesse."

"And I love you, Kix."

Time stood still for a while longer, until the whispers of "Hey, hey Tup!" and "What? I'm trying to sleep," drifted into the galley. Jesse let Kix out of his embrace and turned to give the pot on the stove a quick stir.

"I suppose I should finish this, if anyone's going to have uj cake with breakfast," Jesse said. "You going back to sleep?"

Kix shook his head. He wouldn't sleep now anyway, and a few more quiet moments with Jesse were worth any fatigue he might feel later. A few quiet moments with Jesse were worth his very soul.

"Feel like making yourself useful then?" Jesse asked, a teasing edge in his voice. "You make a pretty decoration, but I don't have room for useless trinkets in my galley."

Kix's face flushed a little as he took the spoon out of Jesse's hand. He stared into the pot of imitation _uj'ayl_ , letting its spiced aroma waft over him. It really did remind him of home. But home wasn't far away Mandalore, not now. His lips quirked into a smile as Jesse paused in his mashing of the uj paste to press a warm kiss to his temple. No. No, home was much closer than that.


	3. Quiet Time on the Resolute: Brothers

_Three quiet moments on the_ Resolute. _Three chances to reflect on what is, what was, and what could be._

Part Two: Fives & Echo  
Brothers

The midday sun shone hot and bright, sending sparkling points of light dancing across the ocean surface. The light bounced up through the cabin window, thrown open to allow the breeze inside, and shimmered in patterns upon the ceiling. The sound of waves punctuated the gentle creak of wood in a cooling _slssh_.

Echo lay in his bunk, watching the reflected sunlight play on the wood. Navigational charts lay draped across his chest, forgotten in the moment. The shade of the cabin offered a calm respite from the oppressive summer sun. Of the two officers' cabins, quartermaster Denal had one, while he had been granted the other. He counted his blessings that he was afforded such a privilege.

He wasn't alone, though. There was a slight grunt, and a booted leg came dangling into his field of vision from the bunk above. Echo sighed and smacked at it.

"Fives, you're interrupting my concentration."

Another grunt came from above, louder and more indignant. "Haven't heard those charts rustle in a while. Sounds like you're _concentrating_ real well." The boot did not move.

Echo sighed again. It was playful banter, and he was glad of the company, even if he would sometimes rather be left to his own thoughts. Family was everything. He wouldn't trade his cabinmate for all the quiet time in the world. Echo closed his eyes briefly and sent up thanks that he could still be with his youngest brother.

They were only a few years apart, he and his brothers. Hevy was the eldest, then Droidbait, then himself, then Cutup, and finally Fives. Five brothers, all born a year after one another. His parents had been, as Mandalorians liked to say, "busy". Growing up, Echo and his brothers had navigated a contentious relationship. Hevy and Fives were both headstrong, a little reckless, mirror bookends to the family. Droidbait––nicknamed for his fondness over the silly wooden dolls that the Jedi often enchanted to dance around for amusement and coin––tried his hardest to be the peacemaker, and Cutup––the family jokester––took every opportunity to land a witty comment or sarcastic barb. Which left Echo, right in the middle, feeling lost. Unable to find his place in the group, and never wanting to get in trouble, Echo would remind his brothers of whatever instructions their parents had told them. Cutup had started calling him "Echo". Of course. Desperate to avoid his siblings' attention, he had turned to books and maps, numbers and charts.

Everything changed when their parents died. Even with a healthy respect for the sea, tragedy can strike, and a sudden and vicious storm had taken their fishing boat as they tried to return to port. The brothers had grieved––loudly, viciously––and then bonded together more tightly than they had ever thought possible. They still looked to Hevy to lead, but Echo found himself the unexpected second, the voice of reason, and the echo of their parents became a welcome ground rather than a grating annoyance. They worked together to re-establish their family's fishing trade, and were a stronger team and better siblings for it.

And then came the war.

Echo and Fives had been assigned to the 501st under Captain Rex. Hevy, Droidbait, and Cutup had...not. Suddenly the boys found their family split apart again. The 501st had shipped out before Echo could find out where his brothers had gone. The war between the Republic and the Separatists was fought on so many fronts that they could be halfway across the world for all Echo knew, and-––though he kept asking, at every dock and pub in every port of call––he had never gotten any information about them. All he had left was Fives.

Fives, who had proven to be a more competent sailor than almost anyone else he'd ever met. Fives, who was more headstrong than ever because of his own confidence, and not because he was trying to be like Hevy. Fives, who didn't need anyone or anything telling him what to do, with the exception of Captain Rex, and even then only because Fives respected him and not because he was Fives' commanding officer. Fives, who never backed down from a challenge.

Fives, who was still his little brother.

Echo would fight the sea itself for his brother.

The booted leg withdrew itself from Echo's field of vision, only to be replaced by Fives' head, leaning over the bunk to look down on him. "What are you working on anyway?" Fives asked. "We're in well-charted waters."

Echo reached for the topmost chart on his chest and waved it at Fives. " _This_ is where we're headed," he replied. "And the rumors of a Separatist stronghold aren't the only rumors about this region. The data on it is practically ancient, and speculative at best. It hasn't been mapped well. I've been asking at ports for any information on this area and compiling notes."

"Ah." Fives paused, letting his eyes drift away. His face grew vacant, distant. "Have you been asking about…"

"Always. Every time."

"And…"

"Still nothing."

Fives gave a small nod and pulled his head back up out of Echo's sight. Echo raised the chart, studying it, but soon gave up and resumed staring at the patterns of light on the ceiling. The air felt heavy all of a sudden. Words left unspoken hung in the cabin, pressing down on his chest, his head, his tongue. Words that needed to be said. Words that could never be said.

"What if we…"

Fives' voice broke the silence. And still the air felt heavy.

"What if we never see them again?"

To hear spoken aloud the thought which Echo tried to bury every time he went to port sent a shock of pain through his heart. He bit his lip and took a deep, steadying breath. When he trusted his voice enough, he shoved the charts off of his chest and got to his feet. He looked at Fives in the top bunk. Fives stared at the half-mended fishing net in his hands, his face an outward expression of the stabbing numbness in Echo's body.

Echo reached out and took hold of Fives' hands, fishing net and all. "We _will_ see them again _vod'ika_." His voice betrayed him, and he forced the words past the bitter lump in his throat. "They're our brothers; we'll see them again."

Fives nodded. Echo gave his hands a comforting squeeze. "And until we do, we have each other."

Fives lifted his eyes to meet Echo's gaze. Tears threatened to fall, but were blinked back. Were they Fives', or Echo's? Did it matter? Echo climbed into the top bunk and pulled Fives into his arms, resting his chin against the top of Fives' head. This was their moment, and theirs alone, a quiet moment with his younger brother. Echo was once again grateful for the privacy of the cabin that they shared, that no other crew member could intrude in their private world.

When Fives spoke again, it was a whisper that Echo barely caught: "I'm glad I have you, _ori'vod_."

Echo smiled into Fives' hair. The weight in the air lifted, brushed away by the cool ocean breeze. Echo held his brother a little closer.

"You have me, _vod'ika._ You'll always have me."


	4. Quiet Time on the Resolute: Stars

_Three quiet moments on the_ Resolute. _Three chances to reflect on what is, what was, and what could be._

Part Three: Tup & Dogma  
Stars

"There. Do you see it?"

"No, I don't. Where are you pointing?"

"There, right there. A little left of straight up."

"Your left or my left?"

"We're facing the same wa–– Dogma you're not even looking!"

"Tup I have to finish smoothing this before I lose too much light. I promised the Captain I'd have it done today."

"At least look at the first star with me. Come on."

Dogma sighed and set down his tools on the rough-edged boards of the deck. He straightened, slowly stretching the stiff muscles of his back and shoulders. The setting sun cast his shadow long across the bow. A salt breeze, chilled by the onset of evening, blew over the gunwales and brushed past his face.

He turned to face his cousin. Tup leaned against the bow, neck craned back, searching the sky for stars. The breeze had tugged a few strands of Tup's hair from its knot, and they fluttered against his face. He glanced back as Dogma stepped forward, then turned his attention back to the heavens.

"You should fix your hair if you're on watch," Dogma said, leaning on his elbows next to Tup. "It's untidy."

Tup rolled his eyes, but a smile quirked the corners of his mouth. "We're not in the navy anymore, _Dogma._ "

Dogma huffed at the emphasis on his nickname.

"And I'm not on watch anyway," Tup continued, still looking overhead. "I just wanted to see the stars."

Dogma glanced at Tup. In the fading light, the lines on Tup's face looked softer. He hadn't had those lines three years ago.

He followed Tup's gaze to the sky, searching for the star Tup had seen. There it was, a little left of straight up, a pinprick of white against the darkening blue. Dogma wondered which one it was. Without other stars, it was still too early to tell. Back home he would have known right away. Or Tup would have. It was always a game: find the first star, yell out its constellation, wait for others to appear to confirm you were right. They had played that game since they were children. Dogma wondered at times if things would have been different if he'd had siblings of his own. Would he still have played the star game? Would it have been something else? But Tup was the closest he had to a brother, and wondering didn't change anything, and they had their game.

Or, they used to have their game. So far from home, all the stars seemed so different, so out of place. And with the war, there didn't seem to be much point in stargazing, not when there was work to be done. Always smoothing and reshaping and resealing and replacing. But that was why he was there, wasn't it? The NoR had needed good carpenters. And he had convinced Tup to come with him, because how could he be without Tup? And now here they were, oceans away from the familiar, and––

"Will we ever go home?"

Dogma blinked. He wondered briefly if his own voice had betrayed his thoughts, until he heard Tup sigh. He turned to Tup, who still gazed wistfully overhead.

"I mean," Tup continued, "I know the war is important, but when it's done…"

"We'd have to get transport," Dogma said automatically. "And even if we found a ship big enough to hold all the supplies for that long of a journey, then we'd need a crew to sail it. And all of those ships are gone anyway; we helped dismantle them after they shipped us to the front, remember?"

A look of sadness flickered over Tup's face. Dogma felt his gut twist. That look hadn't been there three years ago either. So much had changed since they joined the war, but it had happened so subtly that Dogma only noticed it in the rare moments like this, when things were still, when tasks were done. That's when the thoughts came, tumbling through his head, wondering about home, wondering if he made the right decision, wondering if Tup secretly hated him for bringing him out here…

"If you're not on watch, you should help me finish smoothing the deck," Dogma said. "It'll go faster."

"Why do you always have to be doing something?"

"I just…need something to keep my mind occupied."

Tup smiled a rueful smile. "I know the feeling."

They lapsed into silence, leaning over the gunwale. As they watched, another star appeared. Then another.

"Oh!" Tup suddenly exclaimed. "It's The Strill!"

Dogma followed the line of stars with his eyes. Sure enough, the arch of shimmering dots traced the beginning of a snout. Another star appeared, marking the eye. Tup didn't usually need three stars to identify their favorite childhood constellation. But of course, it was in the wrong place in the sky. Reminding him just how far from childhood they'd come.

"I wonder if my baby sister knows The Strill yet," Tup said softly. His face fell again.

"Tup she's four," Dogma replied. "She can't even read yet."

"She'll _be_ four," Tup corrected. He paused. His gaze drifted out of focus. "She wasn't even a year old when we left…"

Dogma reached out his arm. For a moment, he hesitated, then he draped it over Tup's shoulders. "Hey. You'll get home. You'll see your family again."

Despite the sentiment, Dogma felt his gut twist again. Tup wanted to go home. To his family. Of course.

A hand snaked around Dogma's waist, and he tensed slightly. But it was only Tup, scooting closer to Dogma's side.

"You're my family too," Tup said. He turned away from the skies to give Dogma a fond smile. "You're my brother."

Dogma tried to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He returned the smile softly and gave Tup's shoulder a squeeze. His mind struggled to find the words that he felt like he needed to say, but nothing came.

Tup laid his head on Dogma's shoulder briefly. "I'm glad you're here," came Tup's quiet murmur, before he picked his head up to look at the stars once more.

Dogma closed his eyes and fought the lump in his throat again.

"Me too," he whispered.


End file.
